


(modern art is a) disaster area

by mozartspiano



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/pseuds/mozartspiano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>an au where louis is a street artist who started off as just a tagger, and tired, over-worked, underpaid cop!nick, who keeps letting louis get away with his art work</p>
            </blockquote>





	(modern art is a) disaster area

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://mozarts-tuba.livejournal.com/6564.html) as a fill for [this](http://soundingawkward.livejournal.com/11809.html?thread=27681#t27681) prompt.

it's old and big and scary, the wall.

uncharted territory.

almost too clean, too large for louis to handle. 

it's terrifying.

he shakes his can once, twice, and then bites his lip. his hands are a mess (still dark red from helping harry with his latest canvas) and his hair is a mess (the guy this morning wouldn't let him leave, kept dragging him back in for another kiss) and his mind is a mess (swirling and twisting and _thinking_ because louis never stops thinking, can't let himself ever stop thinking).

he draws the first line shakily, but soon picks up speed – one line that meets up to another, big blocky letters. the large circle is easier to do, one little circle inside, white lines making up a word that throws louis off his game.

words. _jesus_.

so simple. too simple. but that's louis and he'll take it any day.

he doesn't bother with what zayn would do – all intricate swirls and face blended in from nowhere – just adds a second coat of white to his two little letters before colouring in the insides.

purple curls into green which juts out into orange as if to say, _you do not own me, you do not create me, you do not and can not and will not_.

the wind prickles up under louis' wool jumper just as he's leaning up on his toes to draw dark shades of blue over the yellow. it cuts through him and makes him shiver. he makes a mental note to stop by at the charity shop on his way back to the flat, and charm the sweet boy who works there into giving him a coat half off.

louis takes a step back when he's finally done.

it's not perfect. _god_ , it's messy and awful, truly, all blurry on the sides and dripping in the middle. but the word is still there, still big and powerful – too powerful for louis – and he decides that he likes this one. he likes it for its faults and for its quirk. 

it's then that he hears a shout behind him.

"oi!" comes a loud, northern voice behind him and it sounds almost like harry. when he turns to wave over a shoulder though, he doesn't see a friendly smile and a shock of hair but instead a tired looking man who's tall and lanky and looks generally pissed.

he's also wearing a policeman uniform.

it takes very little time to toss his cans into the dirty black rucksack over his shoulder, hiking it up a bit before he sprints down the alley. he's used to this and has actually gotten pretty good at running – swapping out the toms he used to wear for a pair of harry's chucks. 

it takes him a minute (the only noise the pitter and patter of his own feet) to realize that no one is following him.

louis ducks down behind a dumpster, quietly eyeing where he was before, to the big mural on the wall all bright and blurry and imperfect. it looks different from this angle, more real.

the cop's standing in front of it. 

he's got one hand on his own hip, unconsciously shifting his weight around and generally looking like someone who hasn't slept in a very long time. the other hand is adjusting his hat, pulling it back and forth over long twisty hair. 

as louis looks the bloke pulls a mobile out of one of his pockets, taking a step back. he snaps a picture of louis' work.

he takes a picture.

louis bites his lip as the cop shakes his head a bit, the tiniest trace of a smile on his face, before walking back the way he came.

_breathe_ , louis reminds himself.

he turns, back against the harsh cool of the dumpster, and sits there for a long minute. he's never had his work immortalized in such a way. regardless of the cop's motive it's still there, a picture of his _work_ , of his life, his soul.

when he leaves (the smell of the alley finally getting to him) he passes his hand over the drying paint, smudging it a little bit. he smiles at it.

the big, colourful, overbearing and eccentric _no_ smiles back.

 

"what do you think?" harry asks him when he gets in the door.

he's standing in just a pair of tight jeans, head tilted to the side as he looks at his latest piece, up against the window. harry's beautiful like this, in his element so completely, and louis can't help but run a hand down his side, curling into his body a bit and smiling.

"it's gorgeous."

"really?"

"really, really," louis presses a kiss to harry's jaw, looking down at the creeping darkness on the canvas. he can see broken promises on it, the ripped breaths, the tightened strings; all the things that harry keeps hidden in himself. 

harry smiles, pulling an arm around louis. they sway a bit, gentlein their shit apartment with it's broken radiator and rattling fridge and hard as fuck mattress. 

"this new?" harry asks him, bright eyes fond as he looks down at the dark green army like coat over louis' holey jumper.

"for me it is," louis says in his mystery voice, pulling away from harry to pad over to their fridge, stuffed in the corner of their one-room apartment. he grabs what looks like a child's juice box (harry's been on a health kick recently, started buying expensive shit they can't afford) out of it and wanders over to their bed. 

"don't tell me you charmed the boy at the register again of that second-hand place again."

"okay, i won't tell you."

"you're shameless," harry smirks, dragging a hand over the trail of hair on his abdomen and itching it softly. 

"i even kissed him on the cheek, haz," louis shakes a cigarette out of their mutual carton, sticking it in between his lips with a smile. "pretty sure he has a boyfriend too."

"slut," it's affectionate.

louis lights the fag quickly, letting the smoke settle in his lungs, before leaning back on the bed. it's a little too warm in the flat with all the layers he's wearing but louis really likes the coat. he likes it too much.

harry takes the spot beside him, knocking his shoulder into louis'. harry smells like sex but louis doesn't ask, just like harry doesn't when louis himself walks into the flat at half ten in the morning, neck bitten up and mouth too red.

they're half a candle too fond of each other to be in love and louis likes it like that.

 

he walks with zayn to his next canvas, sharing a smoke. 

he runs his hands down the bright colours on zayn's arms as they go, smiling when he sees a drawing or phrase he likes. zayn's a tattoo artist, likes to keep his art permanent and in your face. louis loves him for that.

he's not ashamed of his work.

"god, what a heartbreaker," louis says as they pass a group of schoolgirls on the sidewalk. zayn flutters his eyes at them sweetly before grinning at louis.

"jealous cad."

"i know the truth, malik," louis skips ahead a bit, hands shoved deep into his new coat. "i know the true you."

"the true me?"

"the true you."

zayn smiles, knocking his hip into louis' and pointing up ahead, past a group of tourists snapping shots of some statue. "there's a great half wall up, past that thai place. if you worked quick we could go get an early dinner at the pub on elizabeth st."

"you sticking around?"

he holds up a battered book as an answer and louis grins, adding a bit of a jolt into his step so as to get to the wall sooner.

it's so pretty, so clean and unchartered and _lonely_. louis strokes it for a minute, imagining (just imagining, with that steady train of thought still in the back of his mind) and dreaming what he could do with it.

a word comes to mind as he reaches for the white.

 

the same cop as before comes back just as louis finishes up, wiping the blue paint from his pants on his too tight, too long jeans. 

he sits on the curb as the cop comes closer, rucksack full of spray cans shamelessly in between his legs. he waits. he wonders.

louis' curious. 

"hey," he calls out to the cop as he gets close, hat off this time as he runs a hand through his almost-curly hair. "y'alright?"

zayn gives him an odd look, eyes jolting between him and the cop. he wants to bolt, louis can tell, but louis' not ready to leave yet. 

"you know that's vandalism," cop says as he stops in front of them. "i could arrest you for that."

he doesn't think this guy has it in him.

"so?" he echoes his own words, dripping down the innocent wall behind him. zayn snorts quietly (he knows now, knows that nothing's going to happen), and doggy-ears the corner of his book.

the cop bites his lip, looking up at louis' painting again. "you're the same guy from before."

"yep."

"i like your work," the cop licks at the corner of his mouth and louis' eyes dart to it, take in the smudged freckles on his face and the tired, colourful eyes. "i don't know why i do, but i do."

"thanks," says louis, more than a little overwhelmed.

he looks at him hard, tries to see through him (he's guilty of this, always wanting to be able to know everything from a single look, a single meeting). the cop looks odd in the uniform, like he doesn't belong.

in little block writing on his shirt louis sees _constable grimshaw_ , and smiles.

"are you going to take another picture?" louis asks, fingers playing with the hem of his sweater a little awkwardly.

"maybe when you've left," grimshaw smiles with his teeth and they're odd, odd teeth, but louis likes them. "little weird to do it now, i think."

"well if you think so," louis quips back, looking over at zayn only to see his confused expression. "ready for dinner?"

zayn nods, eyes jerking at grimshaw, and louis shrugs, pushing himself up to stand.

he doesn't know why he started flirting either.

all he knows is that he did and that someone likes his work and that he isn't arrested.

"see you around," he calls as they take off, and he gets a nod in return as the cop takes a step back, angling his iphone up and cupping his hand around the lens so the slowly sinking sun doesn't fuck up the picture.

 

louis doesn't get sad when the city paints over his things.

his work is sloppy, quick and heated like sucking some guy off in a toilet. he doesn't think it's permanent, has never seen it as being anything less that it is – a word. that's all it is. but that's all he needs, in the end.

harry paints on canvases with oil, making them stain, making them his.

zayn paints on skin, daring people to forget him, his name or his talent.

but louis – louis paints on walls and street corners, curbs and things. he likes bright things, things that might make someone's day a little better, that might make them stop, that might make them wonder _who? why? why here why now why why why_.

so when the time comes that a city worker comes with white paint, shaking their head and sighing at the explosion of birds louis tried to create or over a simple, black _stop_ in the middle of a bench, he gets it.

he understands.

and he knows, deep down, that's it's time to forget and move on.

 

it's nearly midnight on a tuesday and he's just finished up his latest piece when he hears the soft call of a familiar voice.

it's the cop.

the cop with the phone, the cop with the smile, the cop with the eyes that he wants to know more about.

"hey," he greets lowly, slinging his bag back over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes. "you're not in uniform."

"off duty," his voice is low, pretty and curling.

"love a man in uniform, you know," louis says.

"i'll keep that in mind," he wanders up, looming over louis in the dark, and glances at the face on the wall. "no more words?"

"words still," louis looks at him instead of the painting. he's sick of it now. "just not right now."

"okay," he nods his head. his hair is all up and to the side and back, a painful mess. louis likes it. 

"what's your name?" louis asks.

"nick," he says, bright, _something_ eyes shining at him in the dark. the streetlight around the corner makes shadows on his face. "what's yours?"

"louis," he smiles quickly, quietly, and looks down at his feet. he's wearing his warmest, thickest socks, but harry's shoes are still too big for him. he wiggles his toes. 

nick passes a hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. he looks different at night, without his uniform. he looks bigger, brighter. skinny jeans and a leather jacket and a silver necklace (like harry, but more if harry had a mask, the ability to hide his emotions) that glints in the barely there light.

"do you want to get some food?" nick asks him, a nervous edge to his voice. louis grins bright.

it's been a long time since someone asked him on an almost-date.

he wiggles his fingers into nick's hand instead of answering, and pulls him down the alley and into the bright street.

nick's hand is cold and a little sweaty, but his fingers are long when they wrap back around louis' and he seems to go with everything, despite the fact that they do not know each other.

they don't.

"i think there's a mcdonalds that way," nick tells him, pulling him a bit until they're walking side by side down the sidewalk. it's quiet between them, and a little awkward, but when nick squeezes louis' hand louis can't help the grin that spreads over his face, insides turning warm.

 

the mcdonalds is empty except for a man in the corner on his mobile and two girls in the front, both wearing heavy eye makeup but holding hands over the table.

"i'll pay," nick says as they get to the counter, already popping a hand into his back pocket. 

"you don't have to do that," louis tells him, but a large part of him _wants_ nick to pay, because then louis will have to return the favour.

then it'll be a real date.

"don't worry about it," nick says, and his eyes look blue in the fluorescents of the restaurant. "what do you want?"

louis eyes up his choices. "i'm not that hungry."

"me neither," nick licks the side of his mouth again and louis tries not to find it endearing. "you want to split some chicken nuggets or something?"

louis nods. nick orders.

they wander back to some seats near the window, louis hands laden down with little ketchup containers and plum sauce packets. he shrugs off his coat as they sit, letting it fall open over the chair, and then stuffs a bunch of the long, stringy, oily french fries into his mouth.

"attractive," nick says, eyebrows raised. louis lets his mouth fall open, food all mushed up and gross on his tongue, and nick laughs. 

they eat quietly for a little while; louis hooks his foot around nick's calf under the table and tries not to smile too bright when nick winks at him. 

"so why did you become a police officer?" louis asks as he dips his chicken nugget in their little puddle of plum sauce. 

"needed a job," nick says, mouth full of fries. "and my mate was already in the force so i thought, why the hell not?"

he says 'hell' funny.

"why the hell not, indeed," louis picks at some paint under his nail. "are you from manchester?"

"oldham." 

"ah, of course," louis says, nodding. "my best mate's from cheshire." 

"where?"

"holmes chapel."

"love a northerner," nick grins, inclining his chin forward. "and you, darling?"

"doncaster," louis says, fiddling with the spoon in the mcflurry they're sharing. he's only ever shared a mcflurry with harry before, it's nice with nick. maybe better. 

"and what's a nice boy like you doing in london?" nick's eyes look hazel now that they're in near darkness. louis is fascinated. 

"graffiti mostly," louis says, grinning, to remind nick, remind him that they're being very _romeo and juliet_ tonight. "i work a little at this company downtown sometimes."

"modelling?"

"charmer," louis looks down, willing the red flush off his cheeks. "no, i answer phones and things? it's not really exciting but i make some."

"you could be a model," nick says all crass, swinging his legs a bit to make louis' foot slide up. 

"you've obviously never seen my friends," louis tells him. "believe me, i'm the frankenstein of the group."

"i don't believe that for a second."

louis feels a buzzing so he slides his mobile out of his pocket, leaving one hand out next to the fries, just in case nick wants to hold his hand or something. he looks down at his new text.

"am i keeping you from something?" nick asks nearly sweetly. 

"i'm not sure," louis steals the last of the fries from the odd container and munches on them. "harry just told me that if i'm not home in fifteen then he's going to eat the last of the sweet from halloween by himself."

"better get you home then," nick says in funny voice, all panicky and shouty, and louis doesn't really want to leave but he does want to sleep and judging by the dark circles around nick's eyes, so does he. 

louis stands with the tray, shoving the garbage down the chute, and when he gets to the exit nick's standing with one arm outstretched, hand open as if he's waiting for some tiny hand to fit inside it.

louis feels ridiculous to have smiled so much over some _cop_ that he just met, but he really can't help it.

 

"so why do you do it, then?" nick asks on the way to louis' house (only a five minute walk from nick's they figured out). they're walking close together with their intertwined hands in louis' pocket because his new coat is lined with a soft fleece and nick's leather jacket isn't. 

"the street art?"

nick hums, looking down at louis. his nose is long, and his eyes look a dark brown in this lack of light, pretty and mysterious. 

"it's fun," louis shrugs, curling his toes when a cool trail of wind hits them. "i like the impermanent nature of the medium? i'm not sure. i just do."

"it's really lovely."

"thank you."

"you're welcome."

louis hums a bit (some song harry had been playing over and over again in his piece of shit car) and digs his fingers into the fleshy bit of nick's hand. 

"have you always been an artist?" nick asks, looking ahead but louis can tell that he's curious to hear the answer.

"sort of," louis says. "i actually got accepted into wimbledon college for fine arts-"

"that's incredible."

"yeah, i – yeah it is," louis smiles. he's not used to this much praise. "but i couldn't pay the tuition fee, so i moved here, hoping to save up enough money but. well. plans fall through."

"that sucks," nick licks the side of his mouth and louis' beginning to think that's just a _thing_ for him, as easy as breathing. "that really, really sucks."

"i guess so."

he used to mind a lot, but now he's moved past it. no use crying over spilt milk and all that.

they walk in silence for a little while longer until louis spots a familiar home, his home to be exact, and he pulls nick to a stop outside the little gate.

he can see harry smoking on the fire escape but he ignores him, choosing to tip back his head so he can see nick better.

his eyes are green in this light. 

"i had a lovely time tonight," louis says, smiling just a little bit. he's curious to see what nick's going to do; has forgotten all about the formality of dating and not-dating and almost-dating. "did you?"

"i did," nick pulls his hand out of louis' pocket, but slides it up to louis' waist instead, nudging him closer. louis looks down to try and hide his smile. "trying to get over the whole, 'nick you should be arresting this boy' thing, though."

"i'm innocent and pure."

"i don't believe either of those things," nick says and then he dips his mouth down to press a soft, sweet little kiss on louis mouth.

it's nice. it's really, really nice.

"so i guess i'll see you around," he says when he pulls away, and louis nods quickly, a little overwhelmed.

a lot overwhelmed.

"yeah," louis says hoarsely, and then clears his throat, laughing a bit. "yeah, i'll see you."

"try not to do anything illegal in front of me again soon," nick whispers in his ear before he steps away, stupidly freckled face smiling. "night louis."

"night," louis says, turning to push the gate away and walk up to the house. he watches nick over one shoulder, sees his long body walk away down the street and out of sight, before he round the side of the building to jimmy himself up the ancient fire escape.

when he gets to the top harry gives him an odd look.

"who's that?" he asks him, eyes all glinty in the darkness, the red hot tip of his cigarette glowing. 

louis' never had a secret from harry before.

"it's no one," he says with a smile, shimmying next to harry at the window ledge, and imagines his next work (a mess of blue green brown with a single pupil staring back, _i'll see you around_ in big letters underneath)

 

the next time louis sees nick is when he's in a police cell late friday night, drawing on his (harry's) shoes with a biro.

he hears him before he sees him, but that's just a technicality.

"i'll take in here fincham," comes a voice that sound like nick and louis perks his head up, eyes wide and excited. "how many 've we got tonight?"

"just the one, though there'll be more," says the slightly surly looking man who locked louis in. "have fun."

"i'm sure," nick says and louis hears walking as he comes towards him. "sure it's going to be a right pa- louis?"

"hey, nick," louis greet brightly through the bars. he didn't imagine their next date _quite_ like this, but he'll take it. "how you doing?"

"jesus christ, lou," nick's in shock. that's a new one. "how the hell did you end up in here?"

"they caught me with my rucksack full of paint stuff," louis mumbles, banging his head on the bars. "and i might have been a little drunk-"

nick groans, "you didn't."

"i didn't mean to!" louis pouts, looking down at his hands. "i honestly never meant to call him what i called him."

"who did you call what?"

"that guy with the friendly face and the blue eyes."

"fincham," nick says, a weird smile on his face. he crouches down so that they're face to face (louis still curled up against the bars). "what did you say to him?"

"i don't want to think about it."

" _louis_ ," nick bangs his head against the metal and then slides into a sitting position opposite louis. "you can't do that to a cop. because if you say things like that to a cop then you're going end up in a jail cell."

"i know," louis pouts a bit longer, and then looks up at nick. he looks tired (always tired always with the dark dark bags under his eyes) and his eyes are a pleasant green today, all soft and spring like.

"when are you getting let out?" nick slides his hand through one of the bars, looking over at the sealed door, before gripping louis paint splattered hand in his. 

"'til morning," louis fiddles nick's fingers around, tracing the anchor on his wrist a couple times. "that is, if harry remembers to pick me up."

nick gives him a wry smile and sighs. "i didn't expect our second date to be quite like this."

"oh no?"

"i mean, handcuffs sure," he says slyly and louis laughs. "but not the cage - unless you're into that sort of thing of course."

"i don't think i am," louis' been here for a long while and it smells like cat pee and cigarettes. "i kind of just want to go home."

nick nods at that and louis nods back, content to just hold hands between the (fucking) cell bars and look up at the strained lights. 

"why no?" nick asks suddenly.

"what?"

"why did you paint no on that wall?"

louis shrugs, "it's a pretty powerful word, isn't it?"

nick huffs out a laugh, his free hand coming to pass through his hair. he slips it up and then to the side. "it is."

"i like it," louis picks at nick's bracelets. "i like that i can tease with the word no and i can laugh with the word no, but i can also stop things with the word no."

nick stares at him so louis continues, "when you think about it, a word like no holds a lot more power than you'd think. it's a short word but like, say you were kissing me. and you wanted to touch my bum and you asked and i said _no_ then that would be that."

"that would be that."

"and if you did continue then, well," louis wrinkles his nose. "then you'd be a lot like my ex-boyfriend. which means that you'd get your ass kicked by my gangly best friends, for not listening to that no, so."

"i'll listen when you say no then," nick says, mouth smiling but eyes watching louis closely. "have you ever been in jail before?"

"almost," louis makes grabby hands at nick's other hand and grins when he slides their fingers together. "when harry and i first moved into our place there was this fire – it was a whole thing."

"tell me."

"what?" louis turns shy suddenly. he doesn't know why he keeps doing that around nick grimshaw. "no, it's long and boring."

"i want to hear you talk," nick says, looking exhausted but his eyes are watching louis fondly. "it's been a shit day and i've been working for fourteen hours and i want to hear this story goddamn it."

louis bites his lip, trying to hold back his smile. 

 

they take his spray cans but he gets his old rucksack back, so the whole night wasn't a complete bust.

harry's waiting outside leaned up against his piece of shit car when louis wanders out, smoking another fucking cigarette and looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"seven in the morning, louis, really?" he asks, as if louis _chose_ this himself. harry shakes his head. "you better be grateful for this."

"practically speechless, love," louis winks, sliding his bag through the open back window. "now can we go?"

harry rolls his eyes but meanders over to the driver's side, getting into the car and leaning across the gear console to unlock louis' door. 

he's about to follow him in when a voice stops him.

"nick?" he asks, confused, as nick comes walking through the station's doors, back in proper civilian clothes. "what are you doing out?"

"off duty," he smiles. "and i wanted to catch you before you left."

"why?"

"give me your phone."

"what?"

" _louis,_ " nick rolls his eyes, sticking his hands out to grab louis' around the waist and pull him forward a bit. "give me your phone, duck."

he hands it over then, watching as nick taps his number into it and then slides it back into his tight pockets, grinning all the while.

"text me back so i have yours and then i'll call you later tonight, alright?" nick's eyes are blue again in the sunlight. louis wants to immortalize them. "maybe we can go out for dinner or something."

louis nods, past words.

"can i kiss you?" nick asks, thumb running over one of louis' ribs.

"yes please."

"you sure?"

"yes yes ye-"

nick's lips are warm and sweet and gentle and even though harry breaks it up (far too soon) with the honk of his horn, it doesn't matter because louis has a date tonight.

a proper date.

a real life proper date and he cannot wait.

 

the itch to create and paint and imagine isn't gone.

he doesn't think it'll ever really go.

but now – this glorious wondrous extraordinary now – when he's done (hands splattered and hair a mess and clothes torn) there's a boy to hold and a boy to kiss and a boy to take a picture of the creation because he thinks maybe, just maybe, he'd like to be immortal.


End file.
